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Author Topic: Stream of Consciousness  (Read 10964 times)
ER
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The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #90 on: November 19, 2017, 10:45:27 PM »

That made me feel good til I contemplated the almost forty part. How did I get to be thirty-eight, anyway, when my game plan was to die at twenty-nine? Day by day age had crept up on me, granting wisdom but salting the wounds of time’s cruel lash.
written by ER

  the same way i ended up 56 when i planned being dead at 25.

Quem di diligunt adulescens moritur.
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"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
ER
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Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #91 on: November 20, 2017, 01:51:23 PM »

Oscar Wilde owes me, and I was just explaining to a Jewish intern why that is, and why it is I expect to be able to call on him in the afterlife (or now!) when I need a witty comeback, or tips on how to deal with that pervasive minority group known as men. He's sort of like my flamboyant spirit guide, except I never really hear from him since he's not actually there.

For those not already in the know---are there still any here?---let's review.

See, though he had the sad misfortune of being born into an Irish Protestant household (we do not speak of such things on my mother's side of the family) Oscar had the good sense to convert to Roman Catholicism on his deathbed in Paris, which means he needed a Get Outa Purgatory Quick card, something young me, sitting faithfully attentive but drugged with boredom at thousands of Masses helped provide from seventh grade on.

Hey, my prayers had to go someplace, right, and Joan Rivers wasn't dead yet.

There is this sci-fi quality to the Catholic doctrine of Grace, wherein Grace is applied from one point of time to any other point of time where it is sent, or, more commonly "where it is most needed." Me, I used to sit there droning though the liturgical responses at chapel each day or Mass on Sunday (for most of my life Saturday was my one day off, and it belonged to tennis) and so I'd always offer my prayers during silent reflection to getting Wilde out of The Place of Purification. I would picture him, rosebud on his lapel, swishing happily through the Pearly Gates, tossing off bon mots, and it felt worthwhile.

I figure I shaved time off for hundreds of his non-Pope sanctioned acts with Bosie and the rest of the pale squad, so he skipped into Heaven, passing by more mundane but forgotten sinners guilty of not supporting Bingo, or having lusty thoughts about cheeseburgers on Friday during Lent.

So like I said to her today and in here before, Oscar Wilde owes me!!
Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #92 on: December 15, 2017, 02:36:15 PM »

What I'd Like To Tell Them....

To my oldest daughter: Relationships are more fun when you're the crazy one.

To my son: If you win over the mother, your foot's in the door.

To my youngest daughter: Men are going to like you, so cultivate your inner drama queen.

To my husband: Quit trying to catch falling ladders.

To my mother: When you're sixty, let's tell everyone you're my sister. When you're seventy you can be my daughter.

To my dad: Don't die game, write a memoir. Everyone would want to read it.

To my childhood best friend: You made it, so enjoy yourself.

To the person in Austin I love the most: Remember, I'll never tell any of your secrets.

To my favorite self-styled Jewish Princess: Almost everyone keeps the nose they were born with, so quit acting like still having yours is such an achievement.

To my college roommate: Told you neither of us would be the first of our group to die. You still owe me that Coke.

To my Mormon friend: Proxy baptize me and I'll haunt you.

To my jerkiest uncle: You did your worst, I won, now go die slowly.

To my godson: You're fine, and in life you'll mostly be okay.

To my godson's mother: Your bubbly soul is a gift from God, never lose it.

To my friend's dad: You're a much better person now, even if you were more interesting when your life was falling apart gram by gram.

To his wife: Give me some credit, I could have been worse, you know.

To my favorite Texan: The best is yet to come.

To Trevor: I've always imagined your underwear is more complex than a Jackson Pollack canvas.

To Dark Alex: Your darkness brings light to the grayness of life.

To the Rev: I stand by what I said about Ireland.

To RC Merchant: No, your name is spelled with an "ie" you been spelling it wrong all these years by putting a "y."

To anyone who posts on this site: You're more interesting than most of the people I know.

To all the interns at work who ever called me "ma'am": Time will make you understand.

To the Three-Eyed Beast: Ultimately I'm still here, so thank you.

To myself: Remember, you'll survive every day of your life but one.





Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
Dark Alex
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« Reply #93 on: December 15, 2017, 03:37:57 PM »

All my life I've been hearing people say who dies with the most toys wins.

My plan is to outlive everyone else and then steal their toys. Who wins now biatches?
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There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh.
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #94 on: December 20, 2017, 07:56:22 PM »

I went to my godson's school "holiday" party today and made a point of calling it a Christmas party about sixteen times, not in defense of religion, just because Christmas is too cool to die without a struggle.

It was fun to be there, a good time was had, someone even brought peppermint macarons, just wow, impressive. We sang safe PC-tinged songs of the season, and every chance we got my godson and I kept talking to each other in Yoda-speak.

"More punch you say you'll have?"

Then this "other mother" (10 points, anyone?) started in with a story about her dog hiking his leg and taking a whiz on their Christmas presents under their tree...and so help me I lost it right then, laughing past all dignity, just...I had to turn my back and put my face in my sweater.

I turned back around and she was glaring at me, but I still think that's hilarious. I also got deja-vu for some reason hearing that story of lamentation and woe.

So it was time to pack up and split and I asked my godson what he was going to do since after today he's off til 2018, and he said, "I dunno, stay up late playing Diablo III, then sleeping late, I guess."

Now there's a boy with his priorities straight.
Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
indianasmith
Archeologist, Theologian, Elder Scrolls Addict, and a
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A good bad movie is like popcorn for the soul!


« Reply #95 on: December 20, 2017, 09:05:54 PM »

A few years ago my sister's dog, which was nearly 20 years old and going blind, managed to have explosive diarrhea on almost every present under their Christmas tree - about a half hour before their kids were due to arrive and open them!


I always hated that dog . . .
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"Carpe diem!" - Seize the day!  "Carpe per diem!" - Seize the daily living allowance! "Carpe carp!" - Seize the fish!
"Carpe Ngo Diem!" - Seize the South Vietnamese Dictator!
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #96 on: December 21, 2017, 09:08:59 AM »

The other day Cait, this intern at my day job, told me she didn't think you could ever truly hate someone unless you had first loved that person, and I thought, yeah, ask Jews how they feel about Hitler.
Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
Pacman000
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Karma: 148
Posts: 1660


« Reply #97 on: December 21, 2017, 09:28:43 AM »

A few years ago my sister's dog, which was nearly 20 years old and going blind, managed to have explosive diarrhea on almost every present under their Christmas tree - about a half hour before their kids were due to arrive and open them!


I always hated that dog . . .
And this is one reason I prefer outside dogs.
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ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
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Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #98 on: December 22, 2017, 09:16:03 PM »


On a night out, when I was sixteen, I met the devil.

I can tell you exactly when it was, Friday September 15, 1995, which had been a lax day at school because of an event going on, and I was glad to be away and in the uptown near the area’s biggest university, living like I was older than the eleventh-grader I was, though you couldn’t have convinced me of it back then, not when I was sure I had arrived, not when it felt like everything I ever dreamed of had come true. Remember that age? For me it was sixteen, for you maybe it was younger or older, or maybe it never came at all, or perhaps it still will, but for just a little while you’re self-sure and mighty, intoxicated on happiness, and unaware that it will be all-too fleeting, and someday be just a memory.

The guy I was going out with, and with whom I was more or less convinced I’d spend the rest of my life, got us into a coffeehouse/proto-cyber café/hangout/performing arts venue called The Red Frog, an indie, hip, Starbucks sort of place before Starbucks was much of a presence around the area. (A city Mark Twain once claimed he wanted to be in when the world ended, since it was ten years behind the times.) It also featured a small stage and microphone, local bands and musicians of all sorts would perform, poets would pour out poetry that had more personal meaning than outer value, and the food offerings, though overpriced and strictly appetizers, were eclectic.

It was, in short, a very cool place to go if you wanted to rub elbows with artists and singers, and servers with nose rings and full-sleeve tattoos, still new enough to be a bold statement in our city in the Clinton years. It was also the night when I first saw two very pretty boys vigorously make out with each other, in public, and in The Red Frog everybody pretended not to care, and some may not have, but I think we were all watching that same-sex couple’s face-to-face PDA at a table dead-center of the floor. To me it just seemed so brave, as well as a tiny bit gross.

I was absolutely and totally in love with the person I was with and when he went up and onto the stage during open-mic poetry and free speech night, I was so taken by this poem of his he recited, called “Speaker” that for a moment I forgot I was petrified with nervousness by the fact I’d agreed to go up soon after and say a poem I’d absently penned in study hall, which he told me was good. It was called “Forever After” and today its heartfelt earnestness makes me smile.

Once he had come back but before I went up, I sat there and enjoyed watching girls closer to his age than mine watching him, and it gave me a little thrill that he was with me, not them, that after years of dreaming about it I had pulled it off, getting someone so much older---well four and a half years older---that I loved, to love me back. I remember thinking life could not possibly get any better, and I don’t know if I was right there, but those were days when everything seemed giddy and good.

And that night I saw the devil.

Right before I saw the devil we had ordered this tray of strange finger sandwiches they brought out on a big red square plate. The sandwiches, each tiny, were made with things like steamed duck egg and wasabi on French bread, or pear and caramelized brie on honey wheat, or horseradish sprouts and portabella mushrooms chopped into straws rolled into a seasoned Kashmiri nan. (That last one being almost lethally hot!)

We also had non-alcoholic drinks, since The Red Frog had no liquor license. Mine was sparkling water with cactus pear juice in it, served in a tall rectangular glass with spherical ice cubes floating inside, and inside each ice cube was a tiny piece of some herb, or lemon zest, or ultra-thin sliced cucumber. The guy I was with had a Tibetan tea blend supposedly served at thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit, inside a frozen mug that steamed for a moment in the club’s warmth.

Finally at one point in the course of things, right at the crossroads where evening departs and night begins, I ended up talking briefly to an old hippie who looked for all the world like Dan Haggerty, the actor who had played Grizzly Adams, and I sat turned sideways on my chair talking while the guy I was with did these little finger-flex things up and down my back, which felt more than amazing, and though he always swore he didn’t read about those things or study them, that he just spontaneously did them, they felt better than any professional massage I was ever to have. They left me shivery.

Later still we got wired on espressos there ---who needed cocaine?---and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get to sleep again, but I went with it, drinking cup after cup of this mega-coffee I’d never had before that night, so strong it defied sugar’s sweetness and left my heart beating away faster and faster, finally peaking at what felt like a constant rhythm, no pause between contractions. It was like something hummed inside the core of my brain, like there was a rushing from within me pouring out into the world, slamming me into everything else. (No, that’s how it was, honestly!)

And then, in that state…. OK, here is how I described it in my diary.

I had a strange, strange moment at Red Frog’s. I think I saw the devil. If there is a devil, I saw him. Maybe he came to gloat about getting one more fallen Catholic for his collection, who knows? My soul---and I now know I have one---froze like it was iced over. This man, about thirty, long brown-gold hair was standing next to the old wooden bar they still keep there from when it was a bar until about two years ago, and he was dressed in a tan-colored suit of light material that wasn’t silk or wool or cotton or synthetics, I don’t know what it was, and he turned and looked at me while Brian was away a moment, and he smiled this cordial smile, and his eyes were bright and friendly and kind, like I wanted to walk over and tell him all my secrets, except he already would have known every last one.

He said, “I liked your poem.”

And even his voice was beautiful, like deep but not hard, soft but not effeminate, just like he was an actor, and his teeth were white and straight, he was femininely masculine and masculinely feminine at once, and I felt cold from my toes to my skull, and he gave me two vibes at once, like peaceful and welcoming, as if he felt trustworthy and almost familiar, and he also simultaneously felt repulsive and scary and dangerous. And I kept thinking, OK now I will turn my head and stop looking at him…stop now.

But I kept looking at him.

He was the devil, I tell you, and he even laughed like he knew exactly everything in my head and heart, and finally I did jerk away, and now I know what a bird charmed by a cobra feels like, and I walked backward, not looking at him, and I thought, what if I looked away and he vanished? Well he didn’t, he stayed longer than we did, still exactly there when we left, but if the devil walks this earth in human form, I met him tonight.

And I’ll add this to it. I didn’t tell Brian, even though I wanted to, I couldn’t tell him. It was not like my mouth froze around the words, it was like my brain said, “No, this one is all yours….” And I never told him. He still does not know, and may never know.

I mean of course there is no devil, there may not even be a God, of course I did not meet him, but….weird!


All I know is that across more than twenty years I not only remember that man, I remember the odd contrasting feelings he caused in me, curiosity and attraction and trust, yet revulsion and guardedness and fear that makes me half-seriously say:

On a night out when I was sixteen, I met the devil.

Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #99 on: December 23, 2017, 09:56:09 PM »


On the eve of my thirty-ninth birthday I find myself reflecting on things I have learned. There are quite a few, but how about I list just three?

Firstly, be humble. If you have a talent, it was God-given. Maybe you perfected it, hopefully you did, but it did not originate in you. If you choose to take credit for any talent you have, then remember, it is at least to some extent founded on those who nurtured and supported you on the journey to where you are.

Maybe that sounds saccharine but I think it’s true. In more ways than we may care to admit others made us who we are, so allow room to be thankful and grateful for the contributions of others in crafting us. Even our adversaries had a role to play, so let those who have tried to harm you better you instead, and forgive them. Holding anger in your heart may hurt others but it always hurts you.

Secondly, just as it is a good idea to be humble, be humbled by the fact you’re still here. Many are not. By the time I reach the age the age I’ll be tomorrow, I will have outlived many amazing individuals whose contributions outdo mine. Lord Byron never made it to thirty-nine, nor did anyone with tragic membership in Club 27. My two brothers, gone in infancy, were like the baby Death visits in The Sound of Her Wings, the one who asks Death and Dream, “This is all I get?”  When I first read that I suddenly cried, thinking of the little brothers I never got to know.

So many soldiers of all nations falling on battlefields. Illness cutting down populations, the brilliant, the kind, the despicable alike.

And accidents taking away those who should still be with us.

So I am awed….even humbled, to be drawing breath as I approach my fortieth year on this planet, age thirty-nine on the morrow. Why me? Luck, fate, God? Why am I here and so many others never got to make it as far as I have? When I pause to consider it, it leaves me weak-kneed. Maybe it all comes down to a line my mother likes to recite: “There but for the grace of God go I.”

If there’s a better explanation I’ve yet to hear it.

Third and last, be glad if you are loved, and are able to offer love in return. Yes, I mean that, and I mean it most of all. There are lonely people sharing this life with us, and I am mindful of the fact that I have loved-ones who value me and forgive me, who deem me worthy of their time. Every day my family makes my life happier.

If you are as blessed as I am in this way, then never take it for granted, because it is life’s most precious gift.

There. Three things I’ve learned.

Thirty-nine. Funny, it doesn’t sound so old, somehow, but it used to. Someday no doubt it’ll sound young. Scary idea.

God bless you all, and a Merry Christmas to each of you. You are truly special people.

Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
indianasmith
Archeologist, Theologian, Elder Scrolls Addict, and a
B-Movie Kraken
*****

Karma: 1933
Posts: 11953


A good bad movie is like popcorn for the soul!


« Reply #100 on: December 23, 2017, 11:25:17 PM »

I've learned that fart jokes never cease to be funny if you are a guy.   BounceGiggle
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"Carpe diem!" - Seize the day!  "Carpe per diem!" - Seize the daily living allowance! "Carpe carp!" - Seize the fish!
"Carpe Ngo Diem!" - Seize the South Vietnamese Dictator!
Dark Alex
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« Reply #101 on: December 24, 2017, 04:10:18 AM »

Don't forget ER that you decided not to have your birthday for another month.
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There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh.
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #102 on: December 24, 2017, 10:57:58 AM »

Don't forget ER that you decided not to have your birthday for another month.

Seems our birthday is one thing we don't get to choose, mate. Oh, well, it's been a happy morning so far, and who knows what waiting a month from now would've brought.  Smile
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"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #103 on: December 24, 2017, 11:06:00 AM »

I've learned that fart jokes never cease to be funny if you are a guy.   BounceGiggle

Then just for you, Indy, and just because it's Christmastime....


A kid came home from school and said to his father, "Hey, Dad, today the teacher asked a question, and I was the only one who knew the answer."

"Hey, that's awesome, son!" the dad said, high-fiving his boy. "So what was the question?"
 
"She asked, 'Who farted?' "
Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
ER
Frightening Fanatic of Horrible Cinema
****

Karma: 814
Posts: 5315


The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #104 on: December 29, 2017, 10:02:34 AM »

Yeech what a morning.

Up til dawn watching Black Mirror with my cousin, who at eighteen requires no sleep, (ah, well I recall that glorious ability) I tried to cut out after episode four and he said:

"No, wake up with a 'headache' that keeps you off work til noon. Besides, you're going to be the only person there."

Hmm, words o' wisdom, I thought, visions of making a fun day of it, asking the kids if they wanna come in with me, pizza and light saber battles, wholesome shooting of paintball guns off the rooftop, but noooo, I got woken up on ninety minutes of sleep, HAD to show up at work on time, Big Jolly Deal to get done, ("jolly" is not the first word I thought of) none of the children wanted to go with me, and whatsmore, I keep seeing possible interdimensional beings flitting around out of the corner of my eye, reminding me of Indy's story about the shadow on the staircase, and while normally it's nice enough to be the only one present there is something creepy about being all alone here today, like I am intruding on the silence and the silence resents me.

It's starting to seem plausible to me that these borders between years might make our plane of reality wobbly 'round the edges, know what I mean?

I don't even get taken out to lunch for Indian today since my godson's grandfather, who usually treats me to it, has taken his grandson snow-tubing til tomorrow, so I guess it'll be low blood sugar and hallucinations til quitting time.

If y'all never hear from me again, tell them I think the supply cabinet might be some sort of gateway.
« Last Edit: December 29, 2017, 10:53:20 AM by ER » Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
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